


The Royal Concubines

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Gen, Jewelry, Political Marriages, Royal Concubines, Unhappy Childhood, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18091892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: Irene couldn't hold onto the jewels of her mother, but she learned how to use treasures that weren't her own to get what she wanted anyway.





	The Royal Concubines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maplemood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplemood/gifts).



When her mother died, Iphigenia had the attending servants to move Irene into the back palace despite the fact that her brother was the heir of Attolia. "You can complain to your brother or the King," she told her. "And then you can see how much they listen to you whine about your food and bed sheets and jewelry. Or, you could be happy with the back palace where you don’t have to fight for scraps."

Irene didn’t go complaining to her brother or her father. She knew just as well as Iphigenia that her father wouldn’t have listened, wouldn’t have understood the vitriol of helpless women trying to eke out their niche among the palace. Her brother, however, would have tried to get her some kind of relief, would have had his wife try to protect her. It wouldn’t have brought back the quiet life she had lived under the protection of her mother, and wouldn’t bring her any of the freedom she desired—instead, her every move would have been watched again and picked apart by everyone.

Irene was moved out of the main inner palace and into a small room overlooking the wildest part of the gardens. Suddenly, at night, she could hear the coyotes howling, instead of the more comforting sounds of civilisation like the guard changes and the servants walking the halls.

The change was comforting, in a way. Her mother, the King’s second wife, had lived in one of the largest suites of the castle. There was no need for a simple princess of the royal house to live in the ostentatious quarters. Her nurse had moved with her and it seemed like more people came to speak to her during the day. Living space in the inner palace was scarce and heavily contested, and there were days when one simply had to get out. Back when her mother was alive, she was often away at court for exactly that reason. As the King’s favourite, her mother would escape to the court often, and Irene had been alone.

She had felt lost enough in the rooms already, during the long weeks of her mother’s illness, knowing that it could be her in that sickbed soon enough, like it had gripped so many of the King’s other concubines. Irene should count herself lucky to be alive. Other people hadn’t been as lucky.

Iphigenia — the King’s first wife — had had her moved out of her mother’s quarters quickly. Too quickly, for some people. Malicious gossip would have it that the second wife’s body hadn’t yet cooled out, before Iphigenia had moved all of the worthless goods out of the rooms, and her favourite sister-wife in.

Irene hadn’t been allowed to take any of the goods that weren’t strictly assigned to her by the first wife. There was nobody left to complain to, and her father didn’t allow her audience without scheduling for months in advance. Her older brother had been away attending to the territories since the King was holding court to appease his barons and left nobody who would listen to her complaints. She was aware of her own insignificance in the grand scheme of matters, and what did it matter that she had none of her mother’s jewelry to remember her by, none of her jewelry to dedicate, and only a paltry sum of coins as her allowance.

She dedicated the buttons of her too short dresses, and plain hairpins, and hoped that would be enough to appease some gods. It didn’t appease any of her guilt.

 

From her new room, Irene had an excellent view—and echo—of the less populated areas of the garden. Sometimes, private conversations could be overheard.

" ’Tis too bad that the King hasn’t visited me in so long," Theodora laughed. She was one of the lesser concubines who had come from a lower noble house to the capital to find a husband and caught the eye of the King instead. She giggled inanely, and Irene wished her to the high heavens where at least she wouldn’t have to listen. "I haven’t had so much new jewelry since my last admirer!"

The King’s concubines were older than Irene, and yet sometimes she wondered how they could be so dense. Iphigenia had taken all the good jewelry for herself and left the pretty but worthless baubles for her sister wives. Still, Irene would give a lot to get even one cheap memento. If only she could confront her about her double standard without making things worse for herself.

In a whisper that carried right to Irene’s window, her companion confessed, "I do feel bad about her daughter—you know, the mousy one? What must she be thinking if she sees you parading her mother’s jewels around?"

"Oh, she’s holed up in her room the entire time, anyway. I haven’t seen her since the funeral, she won’t notice anyway."

She saw black and grey spots, from keeping her wits about her. Irene only managed to unclench her hand once the giggling wives had passed. The welts in her hands reminded her for weeks of her own reaction. The welts in her mind festered.

 

It was said that Attolis’s first wife, a cold beauty from the continent, was the reason the capital was moved from Ephrata. The castle had long since been cramped and only used sparingly even though nominally it was still the capital. His new bride had been used to the ostentatious sprawling palace complexes of her home and thought the stronghold not much better than the shack of a shepherd. She had refused to step foot in it.

And so Attolis had commissioned new palace structures to keep his wife satisfied and in good humour. The grounds were designed for the modern fashion on the continent, complex structures designed around an inner palace containing multiple living arrangements. The temple to the old gods had first been moved out of the inner area and then quietly rearranged into a cove nobody would want to go, and the temple to the new gods was created to be the largest on the peninsula. Iphigenia’s dowry had been very useful for that, and she spent it gladly to have a space for the visiting diplomats and ambassadors to stand before in awe.

Iphigenia brought a lot of the culture of the continent to Attolia. Plays, music, dances—she loved the arts and looked down on her husband’s country which she thought backwater and trite. Some of the artists she loved became her sister-concubines, housed in the inner palace underneath her authority. When they didn’t need to bring pleasure to the King and the court, they brought pleasure to his wife.

Iphigenia’s was a happy life, and her husband indulged her in many things. Perhaps, to appease her, he even neglected his own duties as the King of Attolia — to protect the dynasty he needed to propagate as quickly as possible.

She did not fall pregnant the first year they were married, nor the second and third, and Attolis became worried about the stability of his reign and went looking for a second wife.

 

Irene knew to time her own excursion into the gardens during other pastimes for the assorted members of the inner palace so that she wouldn’t do something she came to regret. Sometimes, society could not be evaded. At other times, she was free to drop her worries for a bit and dance underneath the trees. She was careful not to draw any attention, and dropped these dances entirely when someone used her time away to drop earrings next to her bedside. She didn’t wear any of them, fearing the original owner might recognise them and punish her for the theft.

Secretly, she smuggled them into the temples and dedicated them to her mother. If the earrings were a trap to catch her and punish her for crimes she hadn’t committed, the trap was never sprung.

 

Irene’s older brother was born 10 months after the marriage between the King and his second wife. The succession was secured, and yet somehow, Attolis’s barons grew more and more comfortable with more and more power and responsibility.

The outward strife didn’t influence the inner palace, however, because the second wife was not too keen to shoulder the responsibility of managing the inner palace, with its now 6 concubines and their servants, even though she had birthed the heir.

Attolis picked his second wife to be the polar opposite of his first, and luckily enough that meant she didn’t need the rank of first to be satisfied. She was the daughter of a trusted general who was rewarded with the match for his loyalty, and knew little of the responsibilities of a queen.

She was as dark as Iphigenia was pale, and as kind as Iphigenia was cold. There was no room for kindness in the inner palace, of course, though maybe because of that she remained the King’s favourite, and bore him both a son and a daughter.

Her health wouldn’t allow her to bear a third child, and although the King kept visiting with her and listening to her voice, he also went looking for a third wife.

The third wife happened to be the daughter of one of his barons, which kicked off a tantrum by every baron whose daughter he hadn’t favoured like this, which led to the King of Attolia gaining 5 new concubines. There already were a few concubines, renown talents for their music or beauty, and Iphigenia liked being surrounded by some grace—what she didn’t like were these young upstarts, trying to usurp her position by seducing the King.

The King, however, had mostly eyes for the only wife who bore him children, and so equilibrium returned soon to the harem. His favourite wife had no inclination to use her power with the King to elevate her status. At the same time, having the ear of the King made her untouchable for even Iphigenia with her status as a princess. The detente between them meant that Iphigenia was the de-facto ruler of the harem—a position she used with great alacrity and joy. When the second wife died, she could do no else but use her heirlooms in a way that would give her the most use. Irene didn’t blame her for that. What she blamed her for, was dying before she ascended the throne.

 

Attolia went into the inner palace as the first act of her reign. From her father’s concubine’s, she collected her mother’s jewels. These, she didn’t dedicate at the temple in the name of her mother—these she gave to her loyal subjects in return for their service. She had learned to be ruthless from the Princess Iphigenia after all.


End file.
